


Prodigal Father

by MaireC



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:38:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaireC/pseuds/MaireC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers to S9ep03 The Penelope Papers . The result of Tim's long-delayed phonecall with his father. Series of 3 one shots</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Admiral Terrence McGee answered the phone to hear the words the hadn't heard in over 7 years; "Hi, dad? It's me; Tim." As if it could have been anyone else. The hesitation in Tim's voice made him bristle, but the words directly after splashed over him like cold water. "Penny was involved in one of our cases dad. Deeply involved. I thought you should know in case it comes up at work."

Terry blinked and sat back in his chair, his fingers tightening on the phone. "How bad is it? Is she ok? How much trouble are you in? Do I need to-"

Tim drew in a deep breath, his eyebrows furrowing. "I took care of it, Dad. She's ok. It was over a project she worked on in the 70s. I can't go into it, especially over the phone, but she's fine. One of my colleagues is bringing her home. Kind of..."

Terry's frown deepened at the hesitation in his sons voice; he'd hoped that NCIS had drummed that out of him at least. "Tim, you're stammering again; what have I told you-"

Tim's back straightened and his eyes snapped back into focus. "Back off Dad. I mean it." The hesitation and stammer vanished as his jaw set stubbornly. "Our ME is bringing Penny to dinner before bringing her home. This call is a courtesy to inform you about what happened with your mother. Good evening." The receiver was slammed back down onto the cradle and Tim grabbed his jacket and bag and stormed to the elevator, jabbing the button repeatedly to open the doors.

By the time he reached his home, his anger had dissipated, and he was left with the melancholia that even thinking about his father usually brought. He pulled in to the driveway of the house he'd recently moved to and sighed softly as he spotted Jethro behind the side gate, patiently waiting for him to arrive home.

Less than twenty minutes later, he and Jethro were pounding along the pavement and the tension of the day began to drain away, and by the time they rounded the corner of the block an hour later, there was a spring in his step. He slowed as he spotted an unfamiliar car in front of his driveway, and dropped Jethro's leash as they approached, putting his hand to the concealed holster at his back. The door opened before they got there, and a grey-haired man climbed out.

"Dad? What are you doing here?" Tim looked as surprised as he sounded, and when his father made no move to answer, he realised that Jethro had moved in close, his hackles raised, growling. "Butch; stand down. Friend." Jethro immediately sat down and began to pant, his tongue lolling out of the corner of his mouth. "Dad?"

Terry stared down at the suddenly friendly dog and shook his head. "Sarah never said you got a dog..." he trailed off and finally met his son's gaze. "I came to apologise. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. And to thank you for taking care of your Grandmother."

Tim's expression didn't change, but he snapped his fingers at Jethro who turned and trotted up the path, easily vaulting the gate to get into the back garden. "Coffee? I could use one." He didn't wait for his father to answer, but opened the front door and didn't close it behind him. He heard it close a few moments later and ducked into the small bathroom off the hall to tear off his sweat-soaked t-shirt. His father leant against the wall outside and waited as Tim quickly run a wet soapy facecloth over his chest and frowned again. If he hadn't known this was Tim's house from talking to Sarah, he would have walked straight past the stranger in front of him. Gone was the pudgy baby-fat, though the face still remained deceivingly youthful. The boy had lost a lot of weight, and was now toned and muscular.

"You're looking good, Tim. And that's a fine dog you have. Butch, is it?"

"Actually, it's Jethro; long story." Tim sighed and waited for his father to dismiss it, but was surprised when Terry smiled slightly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Tim." The words startled him, and he cleared his throat awkwardly as he grabbed another t-shirt that had been left there on purpose and he dragged it on over his head before leading the way to the kitchen where a coffee percolator was just finishing making a fresh pot.

"Brewed to my boss's taste, so you should like it." He murmured as he handed him a mug. He didn't wait for an answer, but poured out his own and led the way to the back deck, where Jethro was busy chasing a squirrel along the fence.

"So; Jethro? It's an odd name for a dog." Terry settled himself in a chair and watched his son smile ruefully.

"Yeah, well, I didn't name him. He was part of a case we were working on. Our Forensics expert grew too attached to him, and couldn't bear to have him put down or go to another home. She twisted my arm a little and got me to take him in because she couldn't have pets at her apartment. She's the one named him Jethro after our Boss. He answers to it, but takes orders as Butch because of his training; he's a former Navy Drug dog. He's also slightly nuts." Both men winced as the German Shepherd, intent on catching the squirrel, ran headlong into the fence with a yelp. "And dumb as a brick. But he's got a good heart..."

"How was he part of a case?" Terry asked curiously. He didn't know how, but he'd managed to persuade himself that his son wasn't a full agent, but was quickly remembering an odd conversation with Sarah several years before.

"We were investigating a drug trafficking ring and found him with his owner...he'd mauled him to death. Turned out Jethro had been dosed with cocaine, and the drug traffickers had framed his owner; Jethro mauling him was to cover their tracks. They'd planted money and coke in the house." As he spoke he watched Jethro stagger for a moment and then resume his chase. His finger traced a faint scar on his forearm without him realising it, and Terry sat forwards, noticing the distant look in his son's eye.

"What happened?"

"Oh, he was still high when we got there; Tony, Ziva and Gibbs went through the front door and I was covering the back. Instead of a suspect running out, I had a 90lb lump of fur and teeth launch itself out of the door at me. He mauled me; I shot him. I guess we could say we're even stevens at this point. He's never shown a hint of unwarranted aggression after that though. We both healed."

Terry blinked as Tim took a sip from his coffee and reclined back, only to straighten with a wince. "What's-"

"Forgot to take off the holster." Tim groused, fishing at his back for a moment before setting the Sig on the table by his side. Catching his father's expression he shrugged. "I'm a Federal Field Agent, dad. I have to carry portal-to-portal. That includes going for a run. I've pissed off enough people over the years, let alone the ones my team have caught collectively to risk going out on my own unarmed."

"I just can't believe...I never would have put you at law enforcement, son. No- let me speak." He held up his hand as Tim bristled and shook his head. "I don't mean it like that. I knew your strengths; and I knew that if I could get you into the Navy, you'd be an asset to them. I thought it would open doors for you. And I kept thinking that up until you started in FLETC."

"I am an asset to the Navy, dad. I help protect and keep their loved ones safe while they are deployed. I solve the crimes that could..." He drew in a deep breath. "I help, dad. Just in a different way. If I was stuck in a basement somewhere, or in the bowels of a ship, I wouldn't be happy; even if I could get over the seasickness. Computers are only a part of who and what I am. I would have been bored in a few weeks, and regretting what I'd done for the rest of my life. I'm happy enough where I am now. People like me, dad...we need to be challenged. Constantly. Or we start doing stupid things. Reckless things. Now, at least, I have enough on my plate to keep me busy, and the Director understands and throws me a few bones every now and then to keep my mind busy."

"I know that now, son. And I'm sorry. 7 years too late, I know, but I...I hope we can move past this. I've missed you...I know I've been a hard-ass-"

"You were doing to me what your father did with you. I've always know that, dad. Penelope always made sure I knew that. It's why I don't hate you. I've always understood, even if I didn't like it. Truthfully, I didn't see a problem with it until I was older. When I realised that not everybody's father told them that whatever they did wasn't good enough. That they could do better. I did everything I could dad! Everything to make you happy! And the one thing I wouldn't do was the one damn thing you fixated on!" It came out in an angry burst, and Jethro stopped in his tracks, wondering why his owner was suddenly so angry.

Terry stayed where he was, but hung his head. "I know, son. I know that now. I couldn't see it then. I was so frustrated, with everything; not just you. And I took it out on you. With your mother...as she was, and Sarah, and Penny always going on and on, and work...and I took it out on the one thing that was guaranteed to just sit there and take it. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry for the past 7 years. I'm sorry that it took whatever happened with Penny to make you call me. And I'm sorry that I didn't have the courage to do it myself. I picked up that phone so many times...it got to the point that Sarah was so sick of me asking her questions, she stopped talking about you. I guess it was right about the time that Jethro over there got you. She started some half-assed story and then just stopped. Son..."

"Start again." Tim had gotten up during his outburst and was now standing with his back to him, both hands balled into fists, but his voice was hopeful. "Start again, with no mention of me joining the Navy; no criticisms dad. I'm in my 30s. I'm an adult, and who I am now, is who I am. I'm not going to change. For the better or for the worse. You know, I went to a speech therapist. He said the stutter that you kept berating me over; it developed because of you. So if I do, it's -"

"Who you are. A federal agent, who takes down drug dealers. And catches murderers."

"And money launderers, and Terrorists, dad. And child abusers, and the worst that human kind has to offer. I think the only thing we haven't dealt with is a cannibal...scratch that." He frowned and sat down again as Jethro bounded over to lean against him, looking for a good scratch behind his ears. "There was a cannibal. Ate his wife's toe..." He cleared his throat and threw a sidelong look at his father whose jaw was slightly unhinged.

"...oh..." Was all that Terry could manage, and Tim began to laugh softly. It turned into a full, deep-throated chuckle, and Terry rubbed his greying face with an embarrassed smile. "Lots of dead bodies, then."

"More than enough. And I've killed more than enough too." He jumped when Jethro suddenly decided to land in his lap and began to wash his face enthusiastically and finally settled down draped across his owners lap. Terry burst into laughter, and tried to use his mug to hide his smile as Tim sighed theatrically and then dug his fingers into the thick fur around the animal's neck, giving him a good scratch. "He misses me during the day." He sighed again and shrugged, heartened to see the twinkle of humour in his fathers eye. He'd never seen it before and suddenly realised why he was so heartened; his father was treating him as an adult.

"So..."

"What have you been up to?" Tim stretched out his long legs and began to relax as Jethro closed his eyes and shifted until he was completely comfortable. "Like you said; Sarah's been keeping me mostly up to date, but since she went to France..."

"I know. I still can't believe she just upped and left like that. I wasn't too happy. Calling from Charles de Gaul to tell me she'd moved was not the brightest thing she's ever done." Terrence growled and Tim cocked his eyebrow.

"At least she called you; I found out when I called to her apartment and the new tenant told me she'd moved. Considering some of the stunts she's pulled, I don't think either of us should be surprised."

Terry snorted and took a sip from his coffee. "That girl; she's given me most of my grey hairs." They shared a conspiratorial smirk and Tim suddenly cursed as Jethro suddenly bounded off his lap to run a cat out of the garden. Tim's coffee ended up down the front of his t-shirt and he muttered under his breath as he pulled the hot sodden material over his head and used the dry back to towel himself off.

"Sorry dad; I'll be back in a minute." Tim stood and turned to head inside but a strangled cry from his father made him stop in his tracks and turn. "What?"

The second Tim had turned, Terry had been confronted with seeing the pale skin of his son's back covered with bruises. Some were large; one was a full shoeprint, and he could clearly see the heels of boots and long thin lines that could only mean one thing to him.

"Tim...what happened? Your back; god, what happened?" Terry's eyes were wide with horror at the sight, and Tim frowned, his fingers drifting around to touch the offending skin before his face cleared with realisation.

"Oh; that. It's ok...it's hyperpigmentation, dad. It happens sometimes. They don't hurt; they're not actually bruises anymore. More like an echo of a bruise. The doctors in Bethesda said they can take years to fade." He shrugged and trotted back into the house. Emerging with a fresh pot of coffee, a new t-shirt and a plate of cookies, he found his father sitting back in his chair; a stunned expression still on his face.

"One of my partners; Ziva David, she got captured by terrorists three years ago when on a mission for her father; he's the Director of Mossad. We thought she was dead. Mossad had abandoned her...It took us months to track down what her mission had been, and try to piece together what had happened around our other cases. When we finally found who had 'killed' her, we got permission from our Director to finish her mission and bring her killer to justice. So we went to Somalia, and Tony and I arranged for us to be taken so we could get close to the bastard and kil-uh...Finish Ziva's last mission for her." He poured out the coffee and sat down, watching his father's expression carefully.

"Anyways, Tony and I were brought into a room and tied up. They smacked Tony around the face for a while and then dragged him away. And then they started on me. They brought Tony to a room and gave him some kind of sodium penethol type drug to make him spill his guts. When they were done with me, they dragged me into the room with him. That was when we found out Ziva was still alive and being held captive. Tony started singing like a canary 'cos of the drugs but wasn't exactly telling them what they wanted to hear; the fact that our boss is a functional mute isn't exactly a state secret." He grinned at the memory and tried to force down the laugh. "Gibbs was on a hill behind the compound; former Marine Sniper. Took Saleem Ulman out with one shot. Then the cavalry arrived and we bugged out. Got Ziva home, Alive."

Terry didn't – couldn't – open his mouth but his eyes said everything. Rising shakily to his feet, he moved behind Tim and gently tugged up the fresh t-shirt, uncovering the marks again. Tim sat still as his father's eyes roved over the skin, trying to suppress a shiver as trembling fingertips gently grazed what had been a particularly vicious bruise. "Do you know-"

"That was Saleem's boot. He had me against the wall; I think he might have been trying to break my spine. I don't know...there's a couple of whip marks; electrical cord and a plug, I think. They could have done a lot worse, dad; a hell of a lot worse. We've seen the effects of proper torture." He held up his unmarred hands and shrugged. "I still have all my digits, and all my fingernails. I have my sight; nothing was broken beyond repair. Nothing was actually broken aside from two ribs. It might have been a different story if we'd been there any longer, but we weren't. We had a whole company of Marines outside waiting to get us. And Gibbs; we had Gibbs."

He wasn't prepared for his father to tug him backwards and enfold him in a strong hug; his father hadn't touched him since he was a small child, and from memory, couldn't say if the man had ever even hugged him. "Dad...I'm ok."

"I nearly lost you again and I never knew it..." Terry whispered softly, and Tim closed his eyes, wrapping a hand around the arm crossing his collarbone.

"I'm ok..."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

They stayed up half the night; not talking much, just enjoying each other's company for possibly the first time in Tim's life. And adjusting to the possibility that this could become the 'norm' for them. Tim liked the feeling but didn't want to keep his hopes up. The next few weeks and months could be the turning point for them, but while he was approaching the situation with an open mind, he was also keeping his 'shields up' for want of a better description. It would be interesting to see if the leopard could indeed change his spots.

It was near to three in the morning when Terry cleared his throat after falling into a long, thoughtful silence. "Tim; I'm going to ask you something and you can decline if you wish with no animosity. This wasn't the reason behind me coming here, and it isn't the reason why I'm here at-" he checked his watch and looked surprised, "0300 hours. I'm working with JAG on a case that's got connections to my command..." He licked his lips worriedly and cleared his throat again.

"What's it about? If you can tell me, I mean?"

"You're an NCIS Special Agent, Tim, with combat experience. I think I can trust you." He smirked. "It's an assault case. The thing is, nobody, from JAG to myself believe it happened; or at least to the extent that's been claimed. But the evidence is there. Would you- could you visit JAG with me? I think you can help."

A few hours later, Tim followed his father's car to Virginia; Jethro panting tiredly on the back seat. Checking his watch as they passed yet another billboard, he pulled out his phone and called Gibbs. "Boss, sorry for disturbing you so early. I know we're on down time this week, but I just wanted to let you know my plans have changed. I won't be in DC for the week; I'm heading down to Norfolk for a few days."

Gibbs frowned but grunted, hoping that the kid was mending bridges with his father. He'd never realised what had been going on behind closed doors with the kid; never realised until the previous days that McGee Jr. saw him as a pseudo father-figure, or that he hadn't talked to his actual father for seven years. "Take care of yourself, McGee. You need me, you call. Got it?"

"Got it Boss. Thanks." He hung up feeling slightly more confident about his place in life and took the turn off his father took, finally ending up at JAG headquarters. His father didn't look too happy when Tim met him with Jethro on a leash, but Tim shook his head. "It's too warm to leave him in the car, even with a window cracked; he'd cook. He'll behave. Butch, On Guard. Heel."

Jethro immediately moved around to Tim's right side, coming to sit slightly behind him in an obvious submissive position. "He's been well trained. Even if he is half-cracked. He'll behave until I give him the command to relax."

"And what's that?"

"Honestly? It's a nonsense made-up word. I think his previous handler was as nuts as his charge. Shall we-?" He gestured to the door and followed his father inside, checking in with security. His badge and ID got him access without having to surrender his gun, and only a slight protest from them about allowing the dog inside.

He followed his father blindly until they reached a large, open-plan office ringed with glass-walled private offices where he guessed the JAG Officers worked. Gibbs would have hated the place; it was filled with lawyers.

Terry paused for a moment, looking around and when he didn't see what he was looking for, he beckoned for Tim to follow him again and made his way towards a door ahead. Knocking quietly, he waited for the call to enter and slipped inside. "Commander Rabb..."

"Admiral." Harm was on his feet in an instant, saluting, as was the female Marine in the office with him. At Terry's command to stand at ease, they relaxed, and the woman turned to look at Tim curiously. "What can we do for you? Do you need to make any changes to your statement...?"

"I have a few questions to pose to you; don't worry, it's related to the case. I know you go to trial in a few days time, but I thought this might be beneficial. I was given some information last night that set me to thinking; we know that Commander Dennis did hit Commander Tyne from the video evidence, but all of the witnesses say it was just a tap to the stomach. The Commander didn't stagger, didn't fold over with pain and didn't appear to be hurt too badly. In fact, he didn't approach anyone regarding his 'injury' for several days."

Harm sat down and nodded slowly, waiting for the Admiral to come to his point. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that perhaps Commander Tyne was injured at a previous date. There is a condition called Hyperpigmentation. It can occur if an injury is strong enough. The skin retains the colouring, appearing as though the victim still has the bruise, but in fact, it is long gone."

Harm looked thoughtful, but Major MacKenzie looked sceptical. "Is there any proof of this?"

At this, Tim stepped closer to his father, effectively bringing himself into the conversation. "There have been several studies conducted on the condition, as well as scientific papers written. If you check the Journal of Clinical Forensic Medicine, there are several articles listed."

"And I have physical proof that the condition exists." Terry looked to his son, unsure if he could push their tentative truce any further. To Tim's credit though, he shrugged off his jacket, handed his gun and holster to his father and pulled his t-shirt off over his head. Turning so they could see his back, he didn't miss the hiss of sympathy from Mac, nor the reflection of Harm grimacing in the glass wall of the office.

"That looks...painful." Harm began, and Tim shrugged, turning back to them.

"It was, at the time. But it's not painful anymore. It's just pigmented skin; like a freckle or a tan. You can touch it, push at it; it doesn't hurt."

Mac chose to push the boundary and walked around him, gently putting her fingers to the heaviest bruising and then pressing when there was no hiss or twitch of a response. "It's really not bruised? How-"

"Special Op. Classified." Terry murmured, flashing his son a look of gratitude which was returned when Tim realised his father wasn't going into much detail.

"And you are-?" Mac asked pointedly, at which Tim smiled.

"NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee, ma'am."

"You were tortured?"

"Only for a little while." Tim smiled disarmingly, unconsciously channelling Tony, and Mac found herself smiling back at him involuntarily.

"Did you at least achieve your objective?" Harm asked as Mac silently categorised most of the injuries.

Tim nodded. "Our objective was achieved. With an unexpected, and happy outcome. We got back someone we thought was dead. Anyhow..."

Harm smirked at the obvious attempt to change the subject and nodded. "I don't know how we can get information on this in time for court, Admiral. Requesting a police report takes days, which we don't have, even if we knew _when_ it happened. If it happened at all."

At this, Tim smiled and inclined his head slightly, seeming to forget he wasn't wearing his t-shirt anymore. Not that Mac minded; he was in pretty good shape, for all his skin was lilywhite. "I might be able to help you with that. NCIS Special Agent, remember? May I?" He gestured politely to the computer, and though he frowned, Harm moved aside and let the younger man sit behind the machine.

"What are you going to do?"

"I have access to files that you don't. And databases." Tim's fingers were already flying over the keys as he remotely accessed and 'woke' his computer back at the office. If Tony, Ziva or Gibbs had been there, they would have noticed the tiny frown of concentration that furrowed his forehead as he called up a search program and began to look for incident reports or cases involving Commander Tyne. As that began to speed up and spit out information, another window opened and his frown grew.

"Commander Rabb; do you know you have a tracking bug on your machine?" He looked up seriously and Rabb shook his head, moving around the desk to look at the icon flashing on his monitor. "I have my system set-up to run a sweep of whatever machine I'm working from; to make sure I'm not being hacked. Do I have your permission to run a trace?" He asked carefully as a balding man entered and both Harm and Mac shot to attention again.

"At ease." The man looked around the room curiously and folded his arms, drawing Tim's attention to the insignia marking him as Admiral of the Fleet. "Would someone care to explain why there's a shirtless man sitting behind Rabb's desk?" He asked resignedly with a slight hint of exasperation.

"Helping with a case, AJ." Terry murmured good-naturedly. "My son, Timothy. He's accessing some information for the Commander here."

"Commander? Can I-?" Tim was impatient to start the trace, and Harm nodded sharply. Tim's fingers flew across the keyboard as he activated a silent tracker, designed to not be noticed as he continued to work on getting the information Harm needed to proceed with the case. After a few minutes silence, he nodded.

"Got it. I think. The Commander was involved in a bar-brawl approximately two years ago. They couldn't identify who the Commander was fighting, but photographs were taken of the initial injury. Do you have photos of this one?"

Harm nodded and rifled through a file before producing several photographs of a bruised torso. Tim turned the flat screen monitor so it was facing the rest of the room and propped up the photograph below it. "I see..."

AJ frowned and leaned closer. "It's identical...how?"

"Hyperpigmentation. The darker the skin, the more likely it can happen. It's caused by inflammation. A few studies have suggested that it is caused when the skin is injured, melanocytes migrate to the site of the injury as part of the immunological response. The melanocytes then deposit pigment which is taken up by keratinocytes which carry it to the surface where it stays. It can last for up to ten years, and fades gradually." To show his point, he turned in the seat and showed his back to the Admiral, before reaching for his t-shirt. "I would say that Commander Tyne retained the pigmentation from his previous assault. If I was working the case, I would theorise that in the hours after Commander Dennis hit him, he came upon the idea to get his revenge by claiming the assault was more severe than it was. Commander Rabb, I'll send you the information that I have on the condition."

Rabb's computer chimed softly as he finished speaking, and he quickly returned to his other search program. "Oh boy..."

"Son?" Terry asked worriedly, and Tim shook his head.

"CIA. I've tracked your bug to the CIA; well, their Langley branch at any rate. Um...my programme is basically like a dog sitting at a gate right now. Do you want me to go further or should I call it off?"

"I doubt you could go any further anyhow-" Harm began as Mac picked up her desk phone and started dialling. "What?" He asked at the slight blush that flooded Tim's cheeks.

"Uuuuhhhh...the, uh..." He cleared his throat softly and with a glance to the Admiral, straightened his shoulders. "Is it understood in this room that I _can_ not hack the CIA. And I _have_ never gone into their systems without permission during a case, and I _will_ not do it in this instance?"

Terry opened his mouth to demand he answer properly, but AJ nodded thoughtfully, a rueful smile on his face. "Understood." The smile turned into a smirk as Tim fought not to smile and turned back to the computer, as the rest of them began to listen to Mac's side of the conversation.

"Clayton says he knows nothing about it, and wants to know who found it? He's pretty mad someone bugged our computers without his say-so." She hefted up the phone. For the McGee's benefit, she added, "He's the deputy director of the CIA."

"May I?" Tim held out his hand and she gave it to him. "Sir, my name is Special Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS... I was remotely accessing my computer through Commander Rabb's and it ran an automatic programme I have set up to track...yessir...yessir, I can. Uh...permission to access the CIA- Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can do it. No, no, I've _never_ done that before, sir. I just know I have the expertise." Cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder he began to type and after about a minute cleared his throat. "Mr. Webb, I can send you the IP address, and the registration number of the computer now if you wish?...Yessir, I'm in your mainframe...Nosir, I did not start before you spoke with me...Yessir, I really am that good. You can contact Director Vance if you wish and ask him. Just let him know that you gave your permission for me to do it first, would you? He doesn't like me hacking for no reason. Not that I've ever done it before."

He could hear the Deputy Director chuckling on the other end of the line, and was glad the man had a sense of humour about it. When he was asked to put him back on to Mac, Tim handed over the phone with relief and began to collate all the evidence he had. Putting it into an email took another few minutes, and he finally sent everything he had to Webb. "Ok...Sir, you might want to have someone from your IT department contact our cybercrimes department and ask them to run programme TMG2115-RR on your pc's both here, and anything you might use at home to work on too. I'll contact the new head of Cybercrimes so they'll be waiting for your call. I'll ask her to send Johnson. He's the most...normal of them." He smiled wryly as he signed out of his system and gave control of the computer back to Harm. "They spend on average 9-12 hours a day in a basement; they aren't the most sociable people I've had the pleasure to either work with or be the boss of, but they get the job done."

"Impressive, Terry." AJ murmured in an aside to his fellow admiral. "Not only does he help out with a case, he stops us from being infiltrated by the CIA. You must be proud of him."

Terry nodded, wondering what else he didn't know about his son. AJ left them to it, and he and Tim took seats on the far side of the room while the two lawyers began to talk softly about the case. "You were head of a department?"

"Cybercrimes, yeah, for a few months while Mike Mikelson was recovering from surgery. Our team was split up...long story which is classified." Terry frowned at the sudden haunted expression in his eyes and making sure the other two weren't listening, he leant closer.

"Son...what is it?"

"I really can't talk about it, dad. I wish I could but it was highly classified."

"And upsetting."

Tim closed his eyes, pursed his lips together and nodded. "It was a bad couple of months. And ended worse."

"The mission failed?"

"No. We succeeded." Tim ducked his head and shook it. "I'm sorry dad. There's some things I can't tell you, and there will be things I can't tell you in the future. I'm on the MCR team. We deal with bad things...and a lot of it, because we're just Navy cops, doesn't even hit the news. We've taken down Terrorists, dad; not just Saleem. And no one knows."

"I do. Now." Terry sat back and put his hands in the pocket of his jacket, stretching his legs out in front of him to cross them at the ankles. "I let you down," he continued softly. "I don't want to do that again. You need to talk to me, you pick up the phone. You get in the car, or you ask me to come to you. And if you can't tell me details, then...just give me something so I understand what's going on. What's bad...how bad..."

"Got it." Tim nodded and smiled softly. "Thanks, dad. I can tell you this much, this time yesterday, I didn't think I'd be sitting here with you..."

Terry snorted and shook his head. "I know, son. Do you know your grandmother called me an arrogant prick? I swear, her tongue..." He trailed off and glanced at his son, to find him nodded emphatically.

"I know, dad. Believe me, I know. And to think; I used to wonder where Sarah got it from."

"It wasn't me..." Terry shook his head quickly and glanced at him when Tim added "Or mom."

"You talk to her lately?" He asked tentatively and Tim shook his head.

"I haven't talked to mom since I was a kid."

"Me either. So far as I know, she's still in DC; probably still shacking up with whatshisface."

Tim frowned, and realised he couldn't remember the name of his mother's boyfriend/leech either. Taking out his phone, he quickly sent a text off and shrugged. "Sarah'll remember. She's got a memory like an elephant. And a nose like one too. She still talks to Aunt Luce the odd time." He slipped his phone back into his pocket and spotted Jethro sitting patiently by the door. A snap of his fingers brought the German Shepherd to his side and he scrubbed his fingertips through the thick fur on his neck. By the time the two lawyers remembered they had company, Terry was crouched over in his seat, busy rubbing the dog's belly as he squirmed happily by his feet.

Rabb grinned when he spotted the Admiral happily petting the dog and nudged his partner who looked up and smirked. "Admiral, I think we can work with what we have. I'll contact Tyne's council and see what we can work out."

Terry nodded and got to his feet, impressed when Jethro immediately sat up at the doggy version of attention. "Good luck, Commander. Dennis is a good officer. I know he did hit Tyne, but he doesn't deserve to be discharged over this. A rap on his knuckles, maybe, but not that."

They sauntered out of the room to find a young man in uniform waiting for them. He quietly informed them that the Admiral would like a word with them, and Tim nodded when his father glanced at him for confirmation. "I have nothing to do, dad, unless I get called back."

Inside his office, AJ was sitting behind his desk, flicking absently through a folder. "Thanks for coming. Tiner; shoo." The young man nodded and shut the door behind him, leaving them alone. "You really just hacked the CIA?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The following Monday morning, Tim hurried into the office at 8am, just ahead of Tony who was trying to flirt with one of the new TADs from Accounting. Gibbs was already at his desk, which was a surprise to no one, and he looked up as Tim slipped onto his seat and began to log-in to his computer.

"Everything go ok in Norfolk?" He asked curiously, and Tim looked up from his keyboard and nodded, a half-smile on his face.

"As well as can be expected, Boss. No blood was drawn, and...he...he shook my hand when I left. He..." He trailed off as Tony swanned into the bullpen but Gibbs gestured for him to continue. "He said he was proud of me, Boss. He's never..." He fell silent again and shook his head, letting out a soft sigh. "And I don't know if it is because I helped him with a case last week."

"Case? Do tell, Probie? I thought we were supposed to be on down-time." Tony called over, abandoning his own attempt to remember his password.

"Just an assault case between two men under my father's command. They didn't think that the victim was hurt as badly as he said. I managed to give them proof and evidence to the contrary."

"All of it, McGee; is this something that could come back and bite you in the ass?" Gibbs asked with his usual brusqueness. Tim shook his head.

"No sir. There was heavy bruising to his abdomen, but the witness accounts and surveillance footage from the bar told a different story; the guy wasn't hit as hard as he said he was. Just a tap to the stomach; probably lighter than your wake-up taps, boss, from the looks of it. When dad saw the hyperpigmentation on my back, he freaked. I explained what it was, and he put two and two together. That's why I went down to Norfolk with him, so we could talk to JAG and show the defence my back as proof. Then I realised the CIA was hacking into one of the JAG lawyers computers, so I traced it back – with the Deputy Director of the CIA's approval – and gave them the evidence from that. Me and dad spent the rest of the week catching up and talking with the Lawyers."

Tony shrugged and went back to his computer, but Gibbs's quiet 'What is hyperpigmentation?' drew him back to the conversation, quickly joined by Ziva as she dumped her bag at her desk and came over to see what was going on.

"Hyperpigmentation, Boss, it's when...say you get a really bad bruise, and it stays...basically." Suddenly he was tongue-tied as he fell under the scrutiny of his team and he shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back in order. "The darker the skin, the more likely it can happen. It's caused by inflammation. A few studies have suggested that it is caused when the skin is injured...basically, things happen, and it looks like the bruises are still there, just kind of brownish – like when it's in the last stages of healing and the other colouring; the blacks, yellows and purples are gone. It takes years for it all to fade."

"And yours is from?" Gibbs asked pointedly, but it was Tony that answered for him.

"Somalia. Right, McGee?" His eyes were dark, and he folded his arms tightly across his chest. "I thought you said you were fine. They didn't touch you."

"I _was_ fine in comparison to Ziva. And I never said they didn't touch me! - Boss!" Tim yelped as Gibbs grabbed his arm and propelled him across the floor towards the elevator. Tony and Ziva shared a look but got to it too late as the doors closed in their faces. A hasty dash down the stairs got them to autopsy just behind a protesting McGee and an icy-eyed Gibbs and Ducky looked up in wonderment as McGee was propelled into the centre of the room.

"Duck; Hyperpigmentation." Gibbs barked, and Ducky put down a scalpel he'd been cleaning.

"What about it?"

In answer, Gibbs stripped McGee's coat from his back and began unbuttoning the shirt, ignoring McGee's protests and attempts to stop him. "Boss! I can unbutton my own shirt and the Doctors at Bethesda said-"

"Doctors?" Ducky was suddenly all ears and Tim finally batted Gibbs's hands away and stepped back, a warning look on his face. "What doctors? Why were you at Bethesda, Timothy? Is there something- oh my..." He trailed off as Tim finished unbuttoning his shirt and turned around to show them the faux-bruises.

"Yes, it's from Somalia, Tony. And yes, I wasn't just 'lying there'. They had a go at me before they started questioning you. And it will fade, and no, it doesn't hurt anymore." He huffed as Tony's face went white at the sight.

Ziva was another story, and her face crumpled as tears sprang into her eyes. "Ziva, don't cry. It's ok, I'm ok, and I'd have lost my eyes, my arms, my legs, anything to get you free." Tim tried to assure her. "It was just bruising. Just a few bruises...please, don't cry."

"I'm not crying!" She managed to blurt out, and hurriedly swiped at her eyes. "I'm not. But McGee-"

"No buts, Ziva. I'm ok."

"Duck?" Gibbs asked softly as Tim tried to halt the progression of tears down her face.

"Hyperpigmentation of the skin due to bruising." Ducky murmured just as softly. "It is quite a rare occurrence, especially in someone with skin as fair as Timothy's. But with bruising that severe, he would be carrying himself quite carefully, and as we can see, he has full range of motion. I can assure you, though, he would have had damage to his ribs from the force of blows that caused that kind of discolouration of the skin. It happened in Somalia..." He frowned and pursed his lips together thoughtfully. "Some marks are from boots, and others...I would say batteries, or some other form of hard material in a sock. Some kind of electrical cord...you can see where the marks from the plug pins were. Judging from what I can see now, he is very lucky they did not break his spine."

Tony paled even further and closed his eyes, picturing Tim lying on the ground back in the cell again. There was nothing, barely even a wince to show he'd been hurt. "He didn't show it. Even when we got back there was nothing to show..." He shook his head and Gibbs shook his head.

"He was hiding it well, DiNozzo; I didn't even see it."

"Not hiding; it just wasn't the time or the place to be going on about me." Tim murmured, turning his head so he could see them over Ziva's. He was holding her in a hug, and his eyes were sad. "I didn't want her...there should be no guilt from Somalia. No recriminations, no accusations, and absolutely no behaviour that makes Ziva act like this. I wanted our Ninja Girl back. What happened to me and Tony was only a drop in the bucket compared to what went on while they had her. It's not important, Boss."

"I took you for an intelligent person, McGee; don't prove me wrong." Gibbs half-growled, and his eyes narrowed when he spotted Tim's eyes roll before they were hidden by his eyelids. "Everybody on this team is important. What if you'd-"

"Told the medics exactly what had happened; and explained it all to the Doctors at Bethesda when we got there, gotten x-rays and an MRI to make sure there was no internal bleeding or damage to my spine, and then followed up with them again when the bruising didn't fade?" He asked pointedly. "I'm not an idiot, Boss. I took care of it. I'm used to taking care of things for myself. And Sarah." He added as an afterthought. "At the time, Ziva, you were more important than anything else in the world." He moved back a little and gripped her chin tightly, making her look up at him. "And like I said; I'd do it all over again to make you safe; and to keep you safe. I know we all would."

"You got that right." Tony chimed in, uncharacteristically serious. "And McGee...Tim, you know that if it had been you in her place, we'd have done the same. Right?"

Tim's face brightened in a half-grin and he nodded. "Yeah, Tony. I know. Can we please get back to work now? I'm not hurt-"

"What the hell!" Vance's outburst from the door made Tim's shoulders sag and he below out a long breath, closing his eyes as he reached to yank his shirt out of Tony's hands.

"Not hurt; previous injury and I'm not going through this again; show and tell is over! I already had to explain it to my dad, two JAG lawyers, Admiral Chegwidden, Penelope, _Sarah_ and then two _more_ JAG lawyers and a Judge!" He nodded to the Director and hurried from the room, his cheeks flaming red.

"Small muscles, big brains, heart of a lion and he's still got the embarrassment level of a six year old girl." Tony shook his head wryly and picked up McGee's jacket, heading after him. Ziva was on his heels, leaving Gibbs and Ducky leaning against one of the autopsy tables.

"Does somebody please want to explain what's going on?" Vance asked pointedly, and Gibbs shrugged.

"Timothy was injured in Somalia far more seriously than we had previously known." Ducky murmured. "The bruising you saw as you entered the room is a left-over of a vicious beating he took while being questioned. I believe it was before they moved on to Tony to administer the truth serum. None of us knew."

"Did he at least-"

"Said he went to Bethesda; got x-rays, MRIs...everything." Gibbs shrugged, his eyes slightly troubled. In truth, he was pissed that he _hadn't_ known. Hadn't seen the pain in the young man's eyes.

"And his comment about JAG?" Vance pressed on, and he and Ducky turned to Gibbs.

"He talked to his father for the first time in seven years last week. I get the impression they've mended broken bridges. His father saw what you just saw, and was able to make a connection to a case regarding a man under his command. JAG used the information he could get them...and he also helped stop them being infiltrated by the CIA. With Deputy Director Webb's permission, apparently."

Vance frowned but remembered a message on his desk about calling Webb later that day. "Ok..." he turned on his heel and walked away, looking slightly confused.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony glanced over at McGee's desk again and checked his watch. It was Monday morning, he was 20 minutes late and that really wasn't like him. Walking into the Bullpen, Gibbs spotted the look and stopped at his lead agent's desk. "McGee won't be around the next week or so and he's not to be contacted. No phone calls. Abby's been warned too." His statement was more of a demand, and was brief and to the point, and Tony knew by the tone of his voice that if any of them broke it there would be hell to pay.

"Everything ok boss?" Gibbs could read Tony like a book, and knew there was real concern behind the careful tone.

"I don't know. But he says he's not in trouble. Needed some personal time."

As he breezed past him, Tony looked up to find Ziva staring at him quizzically, but he shrugged and went back to his cold case.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two days later, Tim glanced around the apartment and sighed heavily, tugging at the latex gloves on his hands. It was a mess. Boxes and papers were piled high everywhere, and interspersed with wrappers and old cartons of what they could only hope was take-out.

"We need a hazmat team..." He griped softly, and looking up, found his father nodding as he shook out another heavy-duty plastic bag.

"I was just thinking the same. I'm glad you had these overalls though." They both wrinkled their noses behind the paper masks and Tim shrugged.

"I carry a full kit in my trunk at all times; you never know when you're going to get called on a case. I'm getting serious flashback vibes right now."

"Reminds you of a case?" His father asked tentatively. They'd been on tenterhooks for months, but they'd been making good progress. Though neither of them had thought they'd ever bond over something like this.

"A little. A Marine Staff-Sergeant went AWOL. Neighbours started to complain about the smell. Turned out the guy had a serious hording problem. When the Super went to try to find out what the smell was, he...well, they found him pretty much like mom was. Buried under a load of crap." He lifted a handful of papers and grimaced, turning slightly green as something oozed from between the pages.

"Trash it. If it's important, they'll write again." His father advised and Tim nodded, dropping it into the big black refuse sack at his feet. They'd yet to come across anything truly important, and Terry forgot where he was for a moment, sitting against the arm of a couch they'd unearthed. He winced when it gave beneath his weight a little and there was an odd squelch and a tinkle as an errant vodka bottle fell to the newly cleared floor. "I've still got her passport, her birth certificate and our marriage and divorce papers. I never gave them to her when she left. There's probably nothing here of value."

Tim sighed and stood up from his crouch, wincing as his back protested. He took a moment to arrange the bag properly at the edge and used his arm to sweep everything on the table into it. "I never thought I'd…I never thought it would be like this."

"She was an alcoholic, Tim. And she wasn't a good mother, even before, when she was sober. It's ok to feel grief, and it's ok to feel bad, but don't let it overwhelm you. She wasn't worth it."

"Was she ever?" Tim's green eyes pierced his father's, and he wasn't surprised when the Admiral shrugged.

"I don't know, Tim. Honestly, I don't know. I tried..."

"You did the best you could, dad. I always knew that. It just...hurt, sometimes. She was-"

"She loved you, Tim. Deep down. I hope you know that."

Tim shrugged and shook his head. "It's a good thing Sarah isn't here. She'd have thrown up by now." He changed the subject and Terry nodded, getting back up to his feet.

"Lucky us. I'm going to see if I can get a shovel." Between them, they managed to clear out the rest of the mess, filling 3 skips with her things. There was precious little to save, barring a handful of photographs and an old tin that held cheap jewellery. Terry had organised a cleaning crew to come in and scrub the place down before the apartment was handed back to the complex and when they shut the door for the last time, they both shuddered. The hot and humid summer weather didn't help with the smell, and sweat crawled down their backs.

Back at his house, they both stripped down to their underwear at the door, and Tim opened another refuse sack and unceremoniously dumped everything he had been wearing, including his shoes into it. Terry thought for a moment and followed suit, shuddering as his fingers came into contact with one of his shoes. "I liked those loafers." He muttered stonily, and Tim smirked.

"I know. I think I have some crud under my nails from when the glove broke open." They both cringed and Tim dropped the bag outside the front door. Once they had steamed the grime and sweat out of their pores, they collapsed in the living room and the younger McGee produced a couple of bottles of beer. It had been a long few days, and they both knew the following day would prove to be just as hard.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The wake was awkward. That was the only word Tim could use to describe it. His father was handling everything well, or at least, as well as could be expected since he was hosting the wake for his ex-wife's funeral. The house wasn't filled with mourners; Olivia hadn't kept up with many people, and very few McGee's had turned up. Even Penelope hadn't come; though he could understand why. She'd hopped on a plane to visit Sarah in Paris not long after he'd called to tell her that her former daughter-in-law had died.

It was also interspersed with calls from Abby; he didn't answer them because he knew Gibbs had warned everyone not to call him. He listened to one of the voicemails when he was trying to get a moment's peace in the kitchen, in a corner hidden by the caterers. It was vehement. Apparently he'd missed a concert she'd wanted him to take her to and she was angry. And for once in his life, he didn't care. It was like a switch was thrown inside him, and any fear of angering Abby, or even Gibbs didn't exist anymore.

The majority of people there were from his mother's side of the family, and Tim was consciously avoiding any form of alcohol; he needed his wits about him to deal with his mother's sisters. When his Aunt Barbara cornered him in his father's dining room, it was the final straw. She began berating him for abandoning his mother and he turned on her and snapped "I didn't see you calling around cleaning up after her? I didn't see you helping out when she left a twelve year old kid take care of a baby! You did nothing, so now you get to say nothing! Get out!"

Barbara grabbed her coat and fled the house, closely followed by her other sisters, leaving Tim staring at the mantelpiece, where a portrait of his great-grandfather stared back at him sternly, in full Naval Uniform. By the time he had gathered enough of himself together to turn around, most of the people in the room had eased out of the house, realising that the farce of a wake had ended.

He found his father sitting in an armchair staring at him as the last of the neighbours and his friends had left and he hung his head in embarrassment. "Sorry dad..."

"Don't apologise, Tim. You were- are right. They had to have known...they knew what our family was going through and they did nothing to help. I never could stand her family. It was...my father. He arranged the marriage more or less. I just did what I was told. I should have listened to Penelope."

"Grandma always did have a knack in knowing what was right and what wasn't." Tim murmured, and Terry shrugged.

"Grab a drink, Tim. We don't have to play nice anymore."

Tim looked around as the caterers began to remove the food and shook his head. "Let's go out, dad. Let them clear up...I don't want to be around this anymore..." He gestured at the food and the flowers, and Terry nodded, getting to his feet as he loosened his tie. A quiet word with one of the caterers resulted in a promise that there would be no sign of a funeral in the house when they got back; even the flowers would be removed, and Tim drove them to the only place he could think of where a pair of men could sit and drink in peace without fear of either being interrupted, or cut-off.

Terry looked around O'Malley's with a practiced eye as they sat at the end of the bar as they waited to be served and his eyes narrowed when the drinks arrived and Tim turned to a wall covered with photographs and silently toasted it. "What's that about?"

"Dad, you're in a cop bar. Closest one to NCIS. I know some of the people up there..." He swallowed hard and pointed out a photograph of a young brunette. "That's Kate Todd. She was my team mate. Killed by a sniper bullet to the head. He couldn't get a good shot at me and took her out instead. Just down from her, that FBI ID; that was Brent Langer...murdered by one of our co-workers. Someone we knew and trusted. Paula Cassidy and her team; Suicide bomber...we were supposed to be on call that weekend...they took it instead. I was at Jim Nelson's wedding only a few weeks before. We should have been in the building when it blew, not them...I salute those who go before me." His eyes went distant, and softly began to recite;

"It is with deep regret dear comrade  
Your pals now mourn for you  
You gave your life for others  
What better could you do?  
You always went about your work  
An example to us all  
Without a grouse or grumble  
You answered every call  
We've known you work long hours  
With very little rest  
It seemed to be your motto  
'Always do your best'  
We little thought as day by day  
We saw your cheery smile  
That the cruel hand of death  
Was hovering around you all the while  
God will surely now reward you  
You have answered his behest  
'Come unto me ye Weary  
And I will give you Rest',.."

"Jeff Pearson." Terry murmured and turned to the wall and lifted his glass in silent salute. They turned back to the bar, ignored by the other patrons; many of whom Tim knew personally, and many others he knew by face at least. "God, I remember the day you recited that poem for your Grandpa. I never saw him lost for words before."

"I still don't know if he was upset by it or not." Tim mused and Terry gave a half-smile and nudged him with his elbow.

"He was upset, Tim, but in a good way. I could see it in his eyes. He was a damn bastard, though, like me. Couldn't express what he felt. Hearing that come out of a six year olds mouth was a bit of a shock I guess. I never saw him mute like that before or after."

"Pity." The word was out of Tim's mouth before he could haul it back in, and he was surprised when Terry began to laugh, some of the tension of the week draining away.

"Ah, Tim." He slapped him on the back and ordered two shots of whiskey, and they both knocked them back, slamming the glasses onto the bar top. "Drink up, Boy."

"Yessir." Tim answered, and knew that the warm feeling spreading through his chest wasn't just from the hard liquor he'd just swallowed. The only thing in his father's words was understanding; no command, just a request to let himself go.

They sat at the end of the bar for four more hours, and were just beginning another round when the front door opened, and Tony and Ziva walked inside, only to stop after a few feet.

"That's McGoo..." Tony began quietly, and Ziva's eyes narrowed.

"And the Admiral." She added as they found an out-of-the-way booth that they could see the bar from. "What do you think happened...?"

Tony shrugged but suddenly looked devious. "Gibbs said we couldn't call him, but he never said anything about talking to him." Before Ziva could open her mouth to protest, Tony was making his way to the bar. He didn't say anything but stood beside the stool Tim was perched on and just waited. After a minute or so, Tim turned to look at him, his gaze glassy.

"Tony...my mother is dead." He blurted out, staring him straight, if slightly blearily, in the eye. "She died two weeks ago. They found her on Thursday. Kilt by the demon alcohol...we sh'dnt be drinking dad!...demons..."

"Demons bad." Terry replied, regarding his drink drunkenly. "But we're not alka..alc...alcoholics, now are we? WE dn't 'bandon kids...WE dn't bandon hu..hss...hubby. WE drinking to remember...or is that to forget...idunno...I forget." He frowned and took another sip. "Witch. An' her coven. But her coven 'bandond her. An' Sarah wouldn't even come. I waned to s-see her. Penelope with her though. 'S good. Girls need a mother...mother type...who am I kidding. My mother never a mother. She's a-"

Both he and Tim puffed out their chests and struck heroic poses, "Freedom Fighter for the Cause of Justice!"

"Wherever there is greed-" Tim placed his fist against his chest and looked into the distance, chin jutting out.

"She is there! Whoosh!" Terry struck a Superman flying pose and suppressed a giggle.

"Wherever there is Corrorruption-"

"She is there! Whoosh!"

Tony stared at the Admiral in almost disbelief and a touch at his arm told him Ziva had followed him.

"Wherever there are Kiddies abandoned by their mommies 'cos she decides she likes the bottle more than her own kids, She is there!" Tim practically crowed and the toasted the air with his shot glass. "To Penene..Penny. The best Grandmother in the World."

"Here Here." Terry clinked his glass against Tim's and they both took another shot before collapsing in gales of laughter.

"This is not good." Tony murmured softly to Ziva, and the Israeli nodded, slightly shocked to see her quiet, demure partner so drunk.

"Didja know, Tony, my mom's a bitch?" Tim continued conversationally once he'd stopped giggling. "Sorry, sorry; was a bitch. Past tense. Gotta remember past tense. She left us. Sarah was 2 years old."

"Nah; Sarah was three years old. Olivia spent another six months in rehab, an' then, _then_ she left." Terry pointed out sourly, pointing his finger at an invisible target. "Six months. An' you...you were great...you were jus' a kid, takin' care of your sister like a _man_. P-proud of you for that, son. Shoulda told me though. Shoulda told Penny, looong before that. Long, long, long before."

"It was a secret. Wasn't allowed to tell." Tim looked at his now-empty glass mournfully; he had a funny feeling he wasn't going to be getting any more drink; not with Ziva there. "Make her mad, an' she got mean. So mean when she was drunk. I mean mad. I mean, mad drunk. She was a mad, mean drunk. Or is that a mean, mad drunk. All of the above." He waved his hand to dismiss the confusion. "An' she had a back-hand like a boxer. Muhammmmd Ali should'a fought her. She woulda won. Put her hand through the kishen wall...twice! _That_ was when I learned how to spackle. I'm good at spackling." He puffed out his chest proudly.

"Son, you can do anythin' you put yer mind to." Terry clapped him on the shoulder. "'Cept sailing."

"I puke real good too." Tim grinned at his father, who spotted that Tim's glass was empty and graciously poured half of his drink into the empty glass.

Ziva beckoned the bartender over and quietly demanded to know how long they'd been drinking. Sharing a look with Tony, they waited until the father and son were both finished their drinks and steered them out of the bar to Tony's car. Just as Tony was helping the Admiral into the back, Gibbs's car pulled up behind them and he got out, looking worried and more than a little pissed.

"Agent Barnet called; said McGee was getting hammered; he was worried about him." He barked, and Tony stepped aside to reveal Ziva half-holding Tim upright as he listed drunkenly. "What the hell is going on?"

Ziva walked Tim around to the other door and Tony shut the door on the Admiral, his eyebrow lifting as the man leant his cheek against the glass and closed his eyes. "Found them in there a few minutes ago; completely tanked. Boss, McGee's mom died."

Gibbs blew out a long breath and rested his hip against the trunk of the car, folding his arms across his chest. They both glanced over at Tim and Ziva as Tim quietly told Ziva she was beautiful and any man would be lucky to have her be his girlfriend or wife or whatever. "What happened?"

"So far as we can tell, she abandoned him and Sarah when McSis was three years old. To quote McGee; she was a mad, mean drunk and he learned how to spackle after she punched the kitchen wall a few times. I think she may have progressed from punching the wall to punching him, but anyhow, she's been dead two weeks and they found her Thursday. I guess from the way they're dressed, she was buried today."

Gibbs shook his head and turned back to his own car. "Take them to my place. I'll have the coffee on. Don't let Ziva drive unless you want them to decorate the inside of your car."

He made it back to his house in record time, and when Tony pulled up, the coffee was nearly ready and he had blankets on the couch and one of the armchairs. He helped them get the dozing Admiral inside, and then went back for McGee who was staring morosely out of the window, making no effort to move. A barked order had him out of the car and wandering drunkenly up the drive, and he and Ziva tried hard to keep the smile of their faces as he almost landed face-first in a bush.

Inside, the Admiral was rousing to the smell of a coffee mug held under his nose, but Tim shook his head as another was offered to him. "No. No coffee. Don't wanna feel. Cleaned up after her fer years...cleaned up after her again. DeLouise case, remember? Papers up to the sky...jus' like that. Smelled. Two weeks decomp...two weeks...my mom was dead two weeks an' I never knew it. She did it on purpose. She always did it on purpose." He sat heavily and stared down at his hands. "She didn't love me. She only loved Junior."

"Yep." Terry nodded, cupping the coffee between his hands. "Shoulda loved you, boy. I loved you; dinn't understand you, but I love you. She...should have no favourites in kids. 'S wrong. Terry was a good kid...you both were. Two good boys. Best boys a father could wish for. Hope for."

"What happened to Terry, Tim?" Gibbs asked softly, and Tim shrugged.

"Climbed a tree. We were climbing a tree. And then he wasn't. Branch broke an' I couldn't get down...stuck up there for hours. Looking at him. Calling for help, but he died the second he hit the ground. We were pretty high up, Boss. She didn't look at me twice after that. She loved him. She didn't love me. Didn't love Sarah. Left me to take care of her..."

"She went into labour when they told her he was dead." Terry continued quietly, seeming to sober up as Tim spoke. The slurr had mostly left his speech but he stared at the floor glassily as he spoke. "I got recalled. Worst moment of my life was when the Chaplain knocked on my office door. Got home, baby girl, no baby boy. My baby was dead." He rubbed his face tiredly and took a long draught of the coffee. "And then the second worst moment in my life was when the damned Chaplain knocked the second time...Tim had crashed the car...didn't know if he was gonna live or die. On a vent...my boy, needin' a machine to make him breathe. But he's a McGee; he's strong. So strong...hit his head too...bleeding on the brain..."

He looked up, his eyes haunted as the turmoil from those days hit him again. "Nearly lost you. Nearly lost both my boys."

"Sorry dad."

"No sorries! No! Big bad bus. And that's it. And big bad...ah, hell..." He shook his head and sighed, closing his eyes. Tony lunged for the mug as it dropped from his fingers and gently guided him back until he was leaning against the cushions.

Tim half-smirked and sat back in the armchair, blowing out a long breath, as if trying to relieve the stress of the past few days. He giggled softly and murmured "Freedom Fighter for the Cause of Justice..."

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs was confused and looked up at Tony who was regarding his partner with his head cocked to the side and a bemused expression on his face.

"Both he and the Admiral were calling Penelope that when we got there. I get the impression that she took in him and Sarah after his mom went splitsville. And that McGee was left take care of Sarah from infancy until she was about 3 years old."

"That's sad." Ziva sighed softly and sat on the arm of McGee's chair. An unbidden smile spread on her face as Tim listed over to the side and half-snuggled against her, and she threaded her fingers through his hair. "Go to sleep Tim. Dream pleasant dreams."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Admiral Terrance McGee the Third woke up to find himself on a strangers couch with a blanket tucked around him. He was suffering a little from the night before, and couldn't quite place where he was, but seeing his son cuddled up to a pretty, curly haired brunette who was sleeping on his lap, he relaxed; if Tim was snoring like that, then they were at least someplace safe.

Throwing aside the blanket, he got to his feet and lurched towards the kitchen, but made a detour when he heard movement coming from an open door which led to a set of stairs. He paused on the top step when he realised he was heading into a basement, and spotted a silver-haired man carefully dusting sawdust from what looked like the seat of a chair.

"Take a seat, Admiral." He called up without looking, and Terry carefully made his way down the steps and crossed the floor to a stool on the far side of the bench. "There's aspirin in the drawer beside you and there should be a bottle of water."

Gibbs looked up at the sound of the drawer opening and his lips twitched as he fought a smile; the Admiral looked very much like his son, and the rumpled hair and sleepy eyes brought home the resemblance.

"You must be Gibbs; I think I remember Tim saying something about woodwork last night...of course, he could have said anything...I'm sorry for imposing on you like this. I'm not even sure how we got here..."

"No imposition, Admiral. If we'd known about the funeral, we'd-"

"Have gone to it. And that is exactly what Tim didn't want. It's hard enough having to deal with that kind of a situation without having your friends watch. Olivia wasn't much loved; by either her family or mine. How much did you get from us last night?"

"Aside from Penelope being a Freedom Fighter for the Cause of Justice? Enough to understand the situation. Your son is a good man, Admiral-"

"Terry."

"Terry. I'm proud to have him on my team. I'll admit; I always thought he came from a strong home. Hearing from Penelope that he hadn't spoken with you in years shook me. I would have given him more support...shown him more support than I had. And hearing that his mother..."

"Loved his twin brother more than she loved him. Abandoned him and Sarah? Was an abusive alcoholic and managed to hide it from everyone including me? I know, Gibbs. I wish I'd known...she hid it all so well, and had the two of them so scared they never dreamt of telling me. Telling anyone..."

He popped two of the aspirin into his mouth and swallowed them dry as Gibbs began to sand again. "I'll never understand that." Gibbs murmured finally; one father to another, and Terry leant his elbows against the table.

"They were so alike, I had trouble telling them apart when they were little. But then I was away so much, I barely knew them. But I loved them both."

"Why do you think she loved one more than the other?" Gibbs asked conversationally, and Terry shrugged; it was something he'd thought of often, but had never spoken of with anyone.

"Tim was sick a lot when he was a baby, and a toddler. Part of the problem was with his gut; it kept twisting. He had four surgeries for it by the time he was two. He didn't cry a lot, but I guess with two babies and a husband stationed overseas, it was too hard, and she blamed him. But she refused to move to Okinawa, and I couldn't be transferred back. When they got older, the only way I could tell them apart was because Terry was more rough and tumble, and Tim was happy to sit in the corner and read a book. Terry was the athletic one; Tim didn't do so badly himself, but he was always going to be the more academic of the two. I have no doubt in my mind, Gibbs, that when they climbed that tree it was Terry's idea. You'd need a crowbar to get Tim out of a book during the summer."

"And the branch broke."

"The branch broke. It had a rope ladder attached to it that some of the older kids on base had set up. It was a damn high tree, Gibbs. Tim was stuck up there for hours looking down at the...at his brother. It was the next morning by the time the search-party found them. That was when he began to retreat into himself. He ended up stuck at home more than he should because he was looking after himself, his mother, and a baby. He became a target for the bullies and the other kids...I only found out when I came home..." He blew out a long breath and suddenly wished he had a whiskey in his hand instead of an Aspirin bottle.

"What happened?"

"I got an unexpected R&R and flew home to surprise them." His jaw set hard and Gibbs put down the sandpaper. "I found Tim curled around Sarah on the floor, protecting her, while Olivia was beating him. I still don't know what had set her off, but the empty vodka bottle on the floor was enough evidence for me. I called the cops. She went into rehab...I got emergency leave, and my mother came to live with us while I tried to keep everything together. She got out of rehab, and then went straight back on the bottle. The final straw was when I came home one evening; she'd been out about a week..." He paused, the memories coming at him fresh and raw. "She punched Sarah. The kid was 3 years old, and she gut-punched her. Tim tried to keep her at bay, tried to get Sarah out of the house. By the time Penelope got home, Sarah was on the front lawn bawling her eyes out and Tim was wrestling with his mom...she'd gotten a knife..."

Gibbs held his breath as Terry tried to gather himself together. "She...he still has the scar. On the right hand side of his face. Just a little one, but it could have been much worse. So the cops were called, and she went back into rehab. When she came out, she came home again for a few hours. She packed up her things and walked out; didn't even look at the kids. We talked through lawyers after that. I got her an apartment, and made sure the rent was always paid, and a stipend was put into her bank account every month. She never tried to contact the kids, and so far as I know, they never tried to contact her."

"Jesus..." Tony's voice came from the floor and Terry started; he hadn't realised that someone was lying in one of the corners on a blow-up mattress. "Sorry...it's just...I never...Mom and Senior were Alco's, but at least he never went for me with a knife!"

"Senior?" Terry looked confused and Gibbs shook his head.

"Admiral; Anthony DiNozzo Jr., Senior Agent on my team. 'Senior' is his father."

"Sorry for your troubles." The admiral murmured and Tony shrugged.

"It's getting better. He's getting better. He'll never win a father of the year award, but...it's Senior. I'll go check on McGoo and Ziva. Take pictures if needed." He nodded to the Admiral and hurried up the steps two at a time.

"We're dysfunctional, but we work." Gibbs shrugged, beginning to sand again. "Before you ask, Ziva's former Mossad; her father is their director. Another non-contender for the 'father of the year' award."

"And you?" Terry asked, and Gibbs shrugged.

"I'm not a contender either."

Terry placed the aspirin down and got off the stool. "Sorry to disappoint you, Gibbs, but it looks to me like you are."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Ten minutes after the building was rocked by the explosion, the doors to elevator were forced open on the basement level, and Tony braced them open with his foot, allowing Ziva to crawl out over him. He rolled out onto the floor and was mildly annoyed when they stayed in the same position, meaning his fears that they would force themselves shut, trapping him between them had gone unfounded.

Wordlessly, Ziva grabbed his arm and pulled him upright; on this level at least, the only sign of significant damage was loose ceiling tiles that had fallen to the floor. They shared a silent look and limped down towards Abby's Lab, where they could hear oddly distorted music playing.

"Do you think she's still in there?" Tony asked cautiously, as the damage grew more pronounced the further down the hallway they went, and Ziva shook her head.

"I do not know." She admitted softly, "but if there is a window there, perhaps we can get out with some ease."

The doors to the lab were across the hall, blow out of their housing by the force of the shockwave, and Tony moved to take the lead, coughing slightly at the brick dust that left a thick haze in the air. He was stunned to see two unmoving figures covered in the red and white dust from the shattered concrete and red bricks that lined the building, and dashed forwards, closely followed by Ziva.

Gibbs was the first to stir, and he groaned softly, easing his weight off of Abby who was blinking slowly, clearly stunned, both by the concussive blast, hitting the floor so hard and the shock of what had just happened. "Easy, Boss. You hurt?"

Gibbs moved to sit up slowly, checking his limbs and making an internal inventory of his wounds. He judged he wasn't too bad, though his ears were ringing and he had a sneaking suspicion that Tony was trying to divide himself into two. Ziva was slowly helping Abby sit up, and she began to cough.

"I'm ok, Tony. Abs?"

"Whut?" She blinked and rubbed her ear with annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, I'm ok. A bit sore. Actually, a lot sore." She half-shouted and Gibbs nodded, feeling the effects of the blast himself.

"Nothing's broken, DiNozzo. Come on, we gotta go get that bastard."

"We gotta get out first, Boss." Tony snapped and looked around; the windows into the lab were covered with debris. "Onwards and upwards I guess." He held out his hand and Gibbs stood stiffly with his help, not missing Tony's wince.

"What?"

"Don't lecture 'cos we couldn't get near the stairs; we were in the elevator and it fell a few floors to the basement. I was Ziva's cushion." He griped, knowing he probably had at least one broken rib. But if that was all he was walking away with, he knew he was lucky.

"Find McGee, get him to a new computer." Abby half-shouted. "I think he was near finding something!"

"He can handle that himself, Abs. We've got to get ourselves out of here first. I'm sure Vance already has him installed somewhere." Gibbs pointed out, and after a few minutes trying to gather themselves and take proper stock of their injuries, they slowly made their way to the stairwell, hoping it wasn't blocked.

It was littered with more debris and the further they went up, the worse the damage was. There were a couple of women's shoes discarded on the steps and more than one briefcase had either been lost or abandoned in the melee to get out. Emerging out onto the ground floor, they found that the entire foyer had disappeared into rubble, with electrical cables dangling and fritzing every time they hit one another.

The place was already swarming with personnel from the Navy Yard, and a full company of Marines that had been attending a ceremony on the Barry were advancing on them, still in full dress uniform that was already covered in dust. Gibbs quickly handed Abby off to one of them, ordering the man to make sure she got medical treatment, and spotted Vance across the street, sitting on a kerb as he stared at what was left of his car.

"Director?"

Vance was more shaken than he was hurt by the blast, but Gibbs realised he probably had a heavy enough concussion, though the only visible injury was a cut to his forehead. He blinked up at Gibbs tiredly and gestured with his hand.

"They're organising search crews. Two have already gone in for a sweep of the ground floor. Headcount says there's still twenty missing." He blinked again and shook his head, immediately regretting it as the world began to swim. "Your team?"

"Me, Abby, DiNozzo and David are accounted for. You got McGee?"

Vance sighed and after a false-start, managed to get to his feet. "No, I don't, but that brings it down to sixteen missing. Check in with Delores; she's co-ordinating with the Marines, tell her to take your names off the list and then find McGee. We're going to need him if we're to find that bastard. And Gibbs; call your father and get DiNozzo and McGee to do the same. This is going to be all over the news."

As Vance was approached by more officials; this time the Fire Department, Gibbs headed back for the gaping hole in the front of the building, fishing for his phone. Miraculously, it was still working, and he dialled his father's number. "Dad, it's me. Just letting you know I'm alright if you've been watching the news. No, my team's alright too. Walking wounded only. I gotta go, dad." He hung up after the brief and to the point discussion and sent Ziva to Delores to 'check them in' and repeated Vance's orders.

"Where was he?"

"Vance said he was right behind him..." Gibbs trailed off as the implications hit him and slowly shook his head. "Head for the stairs, and work our way up. If he's still in there I'll kill him myself."

Tony nodded, his already sober mood growing grim, and followed the former Marine into the dust and darkness. Gibbs had snagged a torch from a passing Marine, and used it to sweep the floor and the stairs, noting more discarded clothes and belongings as they slowly tested each step to make sure it was stable. A pair of Marines passed them on the way down, carrying a stretcher as they gingerly navigated the stairs, trying to make haste but not fall themselves.

Tony glanced at the woman's face as they passed and recognised her as Elena from accounting; the woman had turned him down for a date on numerous occasions. She smiled wanly at him as they passed and he let his fingers graze her shoulder.

"Step easy, Tony." Came Gibbs's quiet caution as they approached what had once been the doors, and for the umpteenth time in twenty minutes, thanked God that the building had been re-fitted during the cold-war and had been structurally designed to withstand some form of blast; it was the only reason it was still standing. Emerging out into the ruined bullpen, it was clear that while the building had been refitted, it had been a bad idea not to replace the windows with something stronger, or smaller.

There wasn't a single desk or cupboard still standing, and only the faces staring down on them from the Most Wanted wall were still identifiable. The metal stairs and gangway were mostly destroyed too and half the ceiling had come down onto the room, obliterating their part of the bullpen.

Tony moved to start lifting the beams, only to freeze when his foot caught on something he recognised. "Boss, I've got his backpack!" He yelled, and Gibbs dropped the press he'd been moving and hurried over. They both began to hurriedly shift the debris and it was Gibbs that located the limp hand and that gave them a starting point to move the rest covering their Team Mate.

When he got to Tim's face, Gibbs was relieved to see his eyes flicker open, and a ghost of a smile crossed his face as he touched the man's cheek with the palm of his hand. "Easy Tim, we got you." He murmured as Tony dashed for the stairs to yell for a stretcher.

Tim's eyes blinked rapidly, and Gibbs began to worry as they didn't focus on him. He picked up his hand and squeezed it and got a tight grip in return, and Tim's mouth began moving rapidly. The silver-haired agent had to lean close to hear him speak, and frowned.

"Boss...boss...boss, the backpack, it's in the backpack, I got him and it's in the backpack, wrapped in my t-shirt, get the backpack boss, get the backpack, the th-thumb drive...it's in the backpack...you gotta get the backpack...get Dearing...in the backpack..."

It took a moment for him to realise what Tim was talking about, and as Tony returned he sharply ordered him to search the backpack, hoping that Tim was right and it wasn't the head injury talking. As Tony rifled through the bag, coming out with a bundled up t-shirt, he tried to soothe the badly injured man. Tim's eyes were still distant, and he had a suspicion that the kid wasn't hearing or seeing him as he tried to tell him it was all going to be alright.

"Boss, there's a drive in here." Tony confirmed, his face pale. Gibbs's voice was almost frantic as he told Tim over and over again that he was going to be ok.

"Get it to Vance; now!" Gibbs barked, and Tim blinked in shock and swallowed hard.

"Boss, you got it...get it to safety...stop Dearing, ok?"

"Ok, ok, Tim; we're going to get the bastard. Because of you, you hear me? We're gonna find him and stop him because of you."

A soft smile twisted Tim's lips and he blinked slowly, seeming to relax, and his grip on Gibbs's hand eased. "Tell 'em...will you...Sarah..."

"I know, Tim. I'll tell them."

Tony stood for a moment and a horrifying thought slipped into his suddenly numb mind. These could be Tim's last moments; it certainly felt like it. The thumb drive lay almost forgotten in his hand as Gibbs half-shouted that he didn't have his permission to die, and then suddenly he was being shouldered aside by two Marines, one carrying a medic's bag over his shoulder.

There was a flurry of activity and then they were gone through the opening to the stairs, carrying a precious cargo. Instead of shouting at Tony for not doing as he was ordered, Gibbs picked up his hand and gently removed the thumb drive as the first of the Rescue Teams approached them and tried to escort them back down the stairs.

Tony shook off their touch and made his own way down, but Gibbs took one final look around the devastated BullPen that had been his for longer than he cared to admit. Curling his fingers around the precious thumb drive, he turned sharply on his heel and hurried down the steps.

Approaching Vance at a half-run he took no notice of who the Director had been speaking to as he shouldered the man aside. "I need computer access and I need it now." He demanded, and Jarvis's eyebrow raised at his tone.

"Gibbs, this isn't the time or the pla-"

"McGee's sacrifice." Gibbs held up the thumb drive between two fingers, right in front of Vance's face. "This is McGee's sacrifice for NCIS and the Navy. He stayed behind for this, Leon. He stayed behind to get a fix on Dearing, and his last words to me before the Marines took him was to get Dearing. _This_ is the time and _this_ is the place."

Jarvis was already moving towards the car he'd come in which was parked haphazardly to one side, and grabbed a large briefcase. Shouldering Vance aside, he set it on the hood of the car and opened it, revealing a state of the art laptop, much like the one Gibbs had seen Dr. Ryan with. He took the thumb drive from Gibbs's hand and quickly attached it. There was a huge amount of files stored on it, and Gibbs fished in his shirt pocket for his glasses, grimacing when he saw one lens was shattered. Putting the unbroken one to his eye, he began to scan it with Vance and Jarvis, but the other two men could barely make sense of the file names.

"Open that one." Gibbs ordered quietly as he re-familiarised himself with McGee's thought process, and the three of them huddled around the screen as the file opened, showing a set of coordinates.

"Balboa's team are on their way back; they were in Virginia following a lead." Vance began steadily. "Gibbs, I know you want nothing more than to go get him, but your team are injured; they are fresh and better equipped right now to go after him. It's not just you he's attacked, but our entire Organisation, as well as the Navy. Contact them, and then get on to McGee's family...is he...?"

"Alive." The unvoiced 'for now' could clearly be heard and Vance nodded as the older man moved away, already putting the phone to his ear, barking out Balboa's name.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the Pentagon, people were moving with a panic that had last been seen in 2001. Many had been there when the Twin Towers had fallen, and when the plane had been flown into their own haven. Terrence McGee was on his way into the conference room that was holding the impromptu meeting of anyone who could give information or assist with the attack. He'd been summonsed with no idea of where the attack had been, but guessed it was another ship, and the armful of folders in his hand held every bit of information on possible other targets that he could muster.

As he entered the conference room with the other officials, his cell phone began to ring and he answered it with an apologetic grimace to the man by his side, moving out of the flow of people to try to get some privacy.

"Admiral; it's Gibbs."

Terry froze and took in a deep breath, suddenly terrified. "Gibbs...the bomb, that was you?!"

"Yes, Terry. I'm...Tim was inside; directly in front of the windows above where the bomb went off. He's on his way to Bethesda now. I don't know his status, but Admiral, Tim stayed behind to record and save information on the man that did this. He stayed behind to find the bastard. It's because of Tim we'll get him."

"You know who set it?" Terry wasn't aware of the room behind him had silenced as the Secretary of Homeland Security entered, as he had his back to the room, with one hand pressed to the side of his head. At the word Bomb, all eyes were on him, and Gibbs quietly told him what had been happening, and then made his apologies, promising to check in with him later. Terry shook his head as the line went dead and then hurriedly dialled the number Gibbs had given him for Bethesda.

"I need information on Special Agent Timothy McGee. I'm his father; he's just been brought in from the situation in the Naval Yard..."

He trailed off as the sound of typing travelled over the line, and then the woman was back talking with him, her voice low and sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Mr. McGee, but your son...he didn't make it. He was Deceased on Arrival-"

The phone fell from his hand as a wave of shock broke over him, and suddenly hands were helping him sit as his legs went weak, and a glass of water was placed at his lips, someone urging him to take a sip. When his mind came back to him, it was the Secretary herself crouching in front of him.

"Admiral?"

His response was as hollow as the numbness that filled him, and the hand resting on his shoulder tightened. "The bomb in the Naval Yard was set by a man called Dearing. He's the one set the bombs on the Brewer and Benjamin Franklin; his son was a Navy sailor who was killed by a manufacturing defect that could have easily been avoided, and he plans to take revenge on the Navy by exploiting similar weaknesses. When they began to get close, he set the bomb outside NCIS headquarters. My son is dead. He stayed behind to make sure they got him..." His eyes squeezed closed and a soft shudder ran through him as the words left his mouth. It had to be the hardest thing in the world to voice for the first time that your child had died.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Her eyes were filled with sympathy and a General approached hesitantly.

"The FBI have informed us that they are sending some teams to assist with the clean-up operations, help with ongoing cases and search for the Bomber. Ma'am..."

"It seems that this would have been a short meeting anyhow, since we know who it is. We all have our roles to fill; if anything more is required of you, you will be notified." Her dismissal was taken well, and the attendees filtered out of the room, discussion how they would respond to the threat, and assist the smallest Federal Agency in recouping their losses and surviving this heavy blow.

"Admiral McGee, I'll have a car brought round to bring you to your son."

XXXXX

The FBI had already done as promised, and it wasn't long before Fornell and his team were standing outside the cordoned off area in front of NCIS headquarters. Tobias snapped off orders as he ducked underneath the tape, and Sacks nodded, peeling away from the group to see if he could find a member of Gibbs's team to begin assessing the situation and work out how they could help to catch the bastard that had set the bomb. He normally didn't care much for the irreverent team, but now, all bets were off; no one attacked a Federal Agency, especially not on their own turf.

Behind a fire engine, he found DiNozzo standing with his forehead pressed against the cool metal, eyes squeezed shut and hands balled into fists. He stood watching for a long moment as the dark haired man drew his hand back suddenly and punched the metal. He was pulling back for another blow when a hand fastened around his wrist, holding it immobile.

"Breaking your hand isn't going to help stop this maniac." Sacks drawled quietly, and wasn't too shocked when Tony rounded on him. He was surprised that the man didn't swing for him, and frowned when he realised that Tony's eyes were red-raw. "You ok?"

"McGee's dead." Tony swallowed hard and wrenched his wrist out of the dark skinned man's hand. Turning, he kicked the fire engine's tire viciously and took a couple of steps away and pressed his hands to the top of his head. "How in any way, on any world can that be ok?"

"We'll find him." The conviction in Sack's voice was enough to make Tony turn and face him. "DiNozzo, no matter what crap we've been through, nobody hurts a Federal Agency and gets away with it. We _will_ find him. And then we will crush him. Do the rest of your team know?"

The fire in Tony's eyes that had appeared at the mention of crushing, died, and he swallowed hard. "No. I called for an update..."

Sacks beckoned him to follow, and for once, the two men walked shoulder to shoulder without bickering or fighting. They found Fornell, Gibbs and Vance talking quietly, and Tony squared his shoulders before walking up to them.

"DiNozzo, we've just had a call from Balboa; They've traced the house that McGee highlighted and are reaching the farm now. Local PD have the place surrounded but are laying low. A SWAT team are en route and two FBI teams are joining them." Vance looked highly stressed and Tony nodded, chewing at the inside of his lip worriedly. "I heard from Palmer too; Ducky had a heart attack when he got the call to come back. He's in hospital, and they think he'll be ok. Palmer's catching the first flight back with his Father-in-Law, they're gonna help out, but in the meantime, the FBI have offered the use of their Morgue and Labs."

Sacks frowned at the quietly stated reminder of the losses that had been suffered. Ten dead, and god only knew how badly others were seriously wounded. Tony nodded, and then drew in a deep breath.

"I just called in for an update on McGee, boss." He suddenly found he couldn't say the words and Gibbs looked as though he'd been poleaxed. "Yeah...he, he didn't survive the journey. His dad's been notified..." Tony swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to the ground between his feet. "Probie's dead, boss..."

Behind him, Ziva stopped as she was approaching, and shook her head hard. "Tony, no-"

Tony turned and she paled when she saw the expression in his eyes. "He's gone, Ziva."

The Israeli leant heavily against what was left of a car and closed her eyes, covering her mouth with her hand, reaching for her Star of David with the other. Tony wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair.

Gibbs felt numb. He ignored Fornell asking if he was ok and after a moment's hesitation, grabbed the keys out of his friend's hand and climbed into the FBI agent's car. To his credit, Fornell didn't protest, and even Vance only gave a weak one as Ziva and Tony scrambled to get in before Gibbs took off; they all knew where he was going and they wanted vengeance as much as he did.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Admiral entered Bethesda and bypassed the mad-house that was the ER department. He approached the front desk, looking as numb as he felt and leant heavily on it as he waited for a nurse to approach him. "My son was brought here from the Naval Yard; I've been informed of his death, but I'd like to see him. Please." He added, his voice breaking slightly. The woman's face grew grave and she nodded.

"Of course, Admiral. One minute." She took his name and summoned a porter, talking quietly with him for a moment. "Private Jackson will bring you to see him, sir."

Terry followed him into the elevator and as it descended towards the morgue, he steeled himself against what was to come. He'd already buried one son, and he'd hoped never to have to do this again. A morgue assistant was waiting, and Terry was led into a small viewing room, where a sheet-covered body lay. The room swam around him as the sheet was drawn down past the face, and he couldn't focus on the features for a long moment. Finally, he drew in a deep breath, and half a second later blurted out "That isn't Timothy!"

"Are you sure?" The morgue assistant asked defensively and Terry glared at him, grabbing the edge of the sheet and lifting it up.

"Pretty damn sure my son hasn't had his tattoo removed." He pointed at the unmarked skin on the body's hip and dropped the sheet again. "Find. My. Son!"

A half hour later, he was brought up to the surgical wing, and a few well-placed demands had him brought into an observation room overlooking an OR. One of the surgeons glared at a masked and gloved nurse as she moved a piece of gauze to reveal a tattoo on a hip and Terry gripped the windowsill tightly.

"Take damn good care of my son; you've already misplaced him once." He snapped at the administrator who had been shadowing him since the mistake had been found. The man blanched but nodded, assuring him that Tim would receive the best care possible. Tim's injuries were grave, but not insurmountable, and Terry felt the icy fist that had held his heart since he'd first heard the news begin to thaw. There was life; that meant there was hope.

The surgery wouldn't be over for hours yet, and after about an hour of listless waiting, he walked outside into the bright, mocking sunlight, drawing in a deep breath. Wordlessly, a man standing beside him held out a packet of cigarettes and Terry took one automatically, trying to ignore how much his hand was shaking as he used the mans lighter. Taking out his phone, he dialled Gibbs's number, frowning as it rang out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXX

By the time they got to the farmhouse, it was all over. The house itself was up in flames, as well as two of the local PD's cars. A body was lying in the dust and Gibbs strode past Balboa, turning it onto its back so he could see its face.

"It's him." He called over his shoulder at Tony and Ziva and Mathew Balboa nodded.

"Yeah; just called it into Vance. He ran straight out, firing. Looks like he was making his last stand. He had a kill switch in his hand. When he dropped, the house went up. Surprised you came out here with all the crap going on at the Yard. What's the situation there? Vance wasn't in the mood for conversation."

"Eleven dead. Ducky had a heart attack when he got the news, and McGee died getting the coordinates on this asshole." Tony snapped and Balboa and the agents around them blanched.

"Tim's dead?"

Gibbs's reply was drowned out by the sound of his cellphone ringing and he ignored it to stare at the Agent. "He's dead. Didn't even make it to the hospital."

"Boss. You might want to get that-" Tony began, but the glare he received cut him off. "It might be the Admiral."

The glare intensified, but Gibbs took out his phone and rang the number, his anger still evident on his face. "Gibbs." He listened for a long moment that stretched out and looked down at the body at his feet. "I'm standing over the body of the sonuvabitch now, Admiral….Understood…we'll be there as soon as we can." He hung up and after a couple of seconds, scuffed his toe in the dust. "DiNozzo, you can stop working out what DVDs you were gonna take from McGee's place."

Tony opened and closed his mouth, protesting that he wasn't, and it was Ziva that caught on to what he was saying. "Gibbs, he's alive?"

"Mistaken identity. He's still in surgery, and not in great condition, but the Admiral is hopeful. Balboa, this scene is all yours." Mathew grinned and nodded as they got back into the car and sped away, passing a fire engine on its way to put out the blaze.

By the time they reached Bethesda, Tim was out of surgery and the Admiral was dozing in a chair in the waiting room. Vance was seated beside him, sipping on a Styrofoam cup of coffee, sporting a new bandage on his head. He looked exhausted and Tony felt sorry for the man as they traipsed in. He'd had a long day, and he guessed it wasn't going to be over any time soon.

"Everybody else is expected to survive, and be able to return to active duty in the future." He murmured as they dropped heavily into the chairs around them. "Ms. Scuito was here for a while, but she's flying down to Florida to be with Dr. Mallard. She wanted me to remind you that someone has to take care of the dog while Tim is out of action."

"I'll do it."Gibbs murmured softly and sat back tiredly as the emotion of the day began to catch up with him. Tony brought them all coffee and after an hour or so, Vance made his excuses and left to go home and catch a few hours sleep before having to deal with what the dawn would bring.

For the team, the dawn brought a fresh round of coffee and donuts and the news that Tim was being moved from intensive care to his own room. He'd survived the surgery, and the night and for all intents and purposes, had stabilised well enough to be moved. The internal bleeding had stopped, and his head injury brought no corresponding brain swelling. Broken bones and lacerations would heal and mend in their own time, and the internal organs bruised by the concussive blast that had torn through the bullpen were coping well with the strain, and would also heal.

Now all they had to do was wait for him to wake up. Having heard that could take another day or two, Gibbs sent Tony and Ziva home to sleep. They protested, but exhaustion won through and they left him and the Admiral alone to face the day. "You told Penny and Sarah yet?"

"Not until I know he's going to be ok." Terry shook his head. "They're both still in Paris; I don't want to upset either of them any more than I have to." Catching the look in Gibbs's eye he sighed. "Yeah, I'm a chicken."

Gibbs smirked and shrugged. "Can't say I blame you. I've met both of them. Wouldn't cross either of them for all the coffee in the fleet."

"Amen to that." The Admiral took another sip of coffee and then beckoned Gibbs to follow him down the hall to Tim's room. He was relieved to see he wasn't on a ventilator, though there were still too many sensors and machines for comfort. All of his vital signs were strong though and they settled in to wait on too-hard chairs at the back of the room so they wouldn't be in the way of the nurses and doctors that were constantly coming in and out to check on him.

`They were relieved a few hours later by Tony, and when they returned, the Italian was gone and Ziva was seated at the foot of the bed, reading aloud from a magazine. It took Gibbs a second to work out what she was reading, and he bit back a smirk when he realised the magazine was a woman's magazine and the article was about high heels.

"Don't know how much he's gonna appreciate that, Zever." He murmured, and she shrugged, flipping the page.

"I do not know if he is listening or not, and I would rather gouge out my eyes with a blunt spoon than read a car, boob or computer magazine. He is lucky I am reading to him at all. Have you seen to the dog or do you wish me to retrieve him?"

Gibbs shook his head and leant against the window. "He's settled in my back yard with a bone. He should be fine. Any sign of him waking?"

Ziva closed the magazine and looked up at the admiral, who was holding his hand against his son's forehead. "He groaned about an hour ago, but since then there has been no sign of him waking."

Terry nodded and continued to stare down at his son. They traded off sitting with him during the day, and it was sheer luck that Terry was there on his own when Tim's eyes finally flickered open around dawn and stared up at the ceiling.

"Hey Tim." He soothed quietly and moved into Tim's line of sight. Tim blinked slowly at him and worked his mouth for a moment before managing to whisper 'dad?'

"I'm here, son. You just missed Gibbs; he's gone out for coffee. You're gonna be ok."

"Dearing?"

"Dead as a doornail. Some guy called Balboa and his team got him. Thanks to you, son."

"Thought…afraid…too late…"

"No, son. You did real good. Saved a lot of lives. Now don't do anything as stupid as that again, you hear me? "

Tim smiled wanly and closed his eyes. "'K, dad. Everybody ok?"

"They will be, now you're awake." Terry smiled down at his son and having checked to make sure no one was watching, he dropped his head down and landed a gentle kiss on his son's forehead. "I love you, son."

"I love you too, dad."

Outside the door, Gibbs smiled as he heard Tim's voice and walked away with a slight spring in his step. Ducky was recovering well, and now Tim was awake. Whatever storms were ahead of them all, they would weather them together; as a family.

 


End file.
